It Seems a Small Town
by thewriteday
Summary: Susan believes she can never have what it is she's realized she wants. But then, beliefs are made to be upended.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Posting with no edits for now because I'm tired. First attempt (in fanfic anyway) at writing in present tense so there's definitely going to be some mistakes in that arena. Apologies in advance. I don't own Swingtown, it's characters, etc. I do wish it had been continued. I do _so _wish.

**It Seems a Small Town**

Susan is in her old house, in her old kitchen. It must be the day of the move because the house is empty – no appliances litter the room, no dishes sit in the sink, no voices stir in the air. She looks around the room that feels grey to her now. She wants to cry.

And then she realizes she is not alone.

She feels a warm hand reach from behind her and tuck her hair over one shoulder. Another hand slides around her hip and comes to rest on her stomach. At first Susan doesn't recognize the hand and her muscles tense; she loses the ability to breathe.

She looks down at the hand and sees the polished nails that never seem to chip, never seem to break, nor appear anything less than perfect. Her muscles relax a little, except in her stomach, where the hand rests comfortably. Susan puts her hand over that gentle one, the perfect one, holding it firmer against her.

She considers turning her head to see her intruder, but instead she waits. And for her waiting she is rewarded.

A pair of the softest lips she's ever felt places lingering kisses, first against her shoulder, atop the sleeve of her t-shirt, and slowly makes its venture towards the place where the fabric ends. Then the lips begin their ascent up Susan's neck. Susan's eyes flutter closed and she sucks in a bit of air, as if those lips are resuscitating her somehow.

The lips meet her chin and Susan still cannot open her eyes, cannot believe what is happening or why or that it is in her old house, the place she misses more than she can ever admit to her husband.

The first hand, the one that tucked her hair, returns. Only now it is coming around her other hip, travelling upwards. It stills and gives a careful squeeze to one full breast.

Susan's head falls back against the intruder's shoulder. Only she doesn't really feel intruded upon anymore. Instead she feels safe. She feels loved. She feels like she's finding her place to be for the first time since she became a mother. She doesn't feel so lost anymore.

She registers that the lips have left her skin only for a second. Then she senses that the hand pressed to her stomach is moving. Downward. In a slow descent down her thigh, towards the edge of the skirt she didn't remember putting on today. Not that it matters anymore. The skirt is there. And it's being dragged up her thigh, exposing her skin, inch by inch.

She realizes then that that dragging hand isn't just moving of its own volition. It's Susan's hand that's pushing its pursuit, pulling it against her. Susan is begging without words for that hand to find the place that's burning for attention.

Her eyes open fully at the thought. She knows what she wants now. What her body is doing without any real instruction. What she wants from her intruder.

She turns her head slightly, over the shoulder that had been kissed, and finally takes a peripheral appraisal of her companion. The short, dark hair, perfectly styled. The eager red pout that's quirked just-so at the corner, as if that mouth holds too many secrets to name. Susan supposes it does.

In return Susan smiles back and very slowly their faces each lean in, each set of eyes fixed on the others' mouth. At the same time, Susan drags the hand beneath hers closer to her centre. It will only be a moment now and that hand will reach its destination and Susan will press her lips to that glorious pair.

* * *

Susan wakes. Her skin is hot. She's on the verge of sweating. She can feel goose bumps where phantom hands had pressed against her skin.

She's in hers and Bruce's bed. Bruce is gone, presumably to work, which she's grateful for since she imagines she looks like a woman on the verge of undone. It means she's slept past her alarm – again – and the kids must be off to school already.

She's been having those dreams often lately. Ones that come regularly, without prompting. The first time was the night after they'd swung with Tom and Trina. She supposed the dream was a result of the whole affair. It was also the reason she'd tackled her husband the next morning, eager for the satisfaction the dream hadn't provided. Bruce wrote it off as the re-ignition of their marital desire, but Susan knows that for her, it had everything to do with those dreams.

The ones that _never _give her the release she wants.

For a moment, Susan considers chasing the release herself, to deal with the arousal that's coursing through every tendon, vein, and fibre in her body. Instead she groans and moves from bed, hoping to wash the thoughts away with a shower that will have to be ice cold. She hates to start another day like this: wanting something she can never have.

She resigns herself to the fact that Trina Decker will never want for her the same way. And that it can never, _will_ never happen.

* * *

Trina doesn't dream. Or at least not in the same way. She's always slept clear – no scenes of fantasy or rapture fill the space between wakefulness for her. Maybe because she'd lived the fantasies she'd wanted enough not to need the fancies of rest.

But she does daydream.

Usually on her regular runs around the neighbourhood, – which she takes more often alone than with Tom these days – she imagines doing things she'd never really considered, things that are outside of the agreement of her marriage, at least as it pertains to the bedroom.

While she runs, her mind wanders freely, exploring all sorts of situations and desires that had surfaced since that night with the Millers.

She'd been with Bruce; Susan had been with Tom. They'd had fun. But for some reason, no thoughts of Bruce or Tom stay with her from that adventure. The only thing that stays is the image of Susan's naked body. Every line of the woman masterfully drawn, every curve and sinew soft and strong, as if she is not a woman at all but a figure in some renaissance painting, like the ones her father used to collect.

And Susan's face – with features so gentle and pure they seemed to sparkle – makes Trina warm in spite of herself. Even warmer than she is from running. And in places that have nothing to do with the exercise.

She pictures Susan's smile and Trina smiles to herself, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks. It is as if she is some school girl with a crush, a feeling she hadn't even entertained when she really _was_ a school girl.

She rounds the corner onto their street, her breath heavy with the combined stress of her run and of the thoughts rattling around in her head. Thoughts of having a night alone with her new neighbour, of kissing the lips that formed so sweet a smile, of running her fingers through long waves of amber hair.

She pauses in her driveway, catching her breath for a moment, hands on her hips as she walks in circles to cool down.

She feels her before she sees her. Trina looks across the street to the Miller's house and meets the gaze of pale eyes in the front window. For a moment Susan looks as though she's been caught doing something she's not supposed to and Trina thinks the woman will bolt further into the house.

Then Susan smiles, broadly, warmly, and Trina feels her own mouth broaden in response. Susan raises her hand and produces a little wave. Trina waves back, reluctant to move inside just yet.

After a long minute, both unwilling to break the stare, Susan seems to snap out of her daze. She gives a strange little nod and then leaves the window.

Trina is nearly cooled down now. Or she should be. In reality she is still residually warm from the wordless exchange.

She turns and heads inside her home, overwhelmed by an uncomfortable cocktail of _want_ and of being unfulfilled.

* * *

Susan's heart is_ still_ beating faster from glimpsing Trina in her driveway. Seeing her slick with sweat and gleaming after her run is doing nothing to still the ache that Susan's been carefully avoiding.

Because of course she's _seen_ Trina slick like that before, but for an entirely different reason. And though it makes no sense and makes Susan feel like she's going crazy, _she _wants to be the reason Trina is exhausted and coursing with adrenaline. Just as she wants Trina to be _her_ reason.

The shrillness of the ringing phone disturbs her reverie.

Susan crosses to the receiver, takes a deep breath so that she might produce some kind of decent response, and answers.

"Miller residence."

"Susan! Hi, it's Trina."

Susan's heart leaps into her throat, but she manages to speak past it.

"Trina! Hi, how are you?"

"I'm well. Very well in fact. I just stepped out of the shower."

Susan tries not to picture this.

"Ahh yes, fresh from your run."

"Indeed." Trina affirms. Susan can hear the grin in her voice. "I was wondering – if you're not busy later, would you have dinner with me? Tom's out all week and I'm beginning to feel how secluded I am."

Susan bites her lip.

"I-I'd love to but I have to pick up the kids and then they'll be expecting me to make _them_ dinner so–"

"Of course. I don't know what I was thinking!" Trina tries to keep her voice light but Susan can hear an underlying tone of dejectedness.

"But I could come after dinner!" She quickly provides, hoping to hear the woman happy again.

"Are you sure? Now I feel like I'm putting a gun to your head. Just forget I asked."

"No, Trina: I really would like to come by. If you'll have me." Susan wears a lazy smile herself now.

"Then I will have you. Just pop by whenever you're done."

"Okay. See you later then." Susan's smile has turned into a grin at Trina's words. _Then I will have you_. Susan's stomach tightens.

"See you later."

* * *

Susan nearly burns dinner – twice. She is too distracted thinking of what to wear or what to bring and she's nearly falling over herself at every step. She thanks god she's so practiced or she's sure she'd have seriously injured herself before being able to serve the meal.

At dinner, she half-listens to Bruce recount his day; she smiles in the right places, nods in others. She barely registers that the conversation is being turned to her when Bruce startles her into attention.

"Susan, honey? You all right?"

"Of course, why?"

Her children eye her with the same confusion as her husband.

"You just seem like you're somewhere else – I asked you how your day was." Bruce grins at his wife's dazed look.

"Oh! I'm just half-asleep I think. Um, my day was good. I got most of the laundry done and finished off a section of _1984_."

"You've never read it before?" Laurie asks incredulously, clearly horrified at the slight.

Susan steadies a motherly glare in her direction. "_No_, Laurie. I haven't. Not all of us are scholars of your fortitude."

Laurie rolls her eyes and continues picking at the food on her plate.

"Sounds like a good day, then." Bruce says with a smile.

Susan steels herself and tries not to blush for the next thing she says.

"I talked to Trina today, too. I was planning on heading over there after dinner, if that's all right with you." Susan almost wants him to say it isn't, if only to put an end to her silliness.

"Oh that's right – Tom's away, isn't he? I guess she's getting lonely over there in the ol' Decker mansion." Bruce throws her a lopsided grin and keeps eating.

Susan nods and smiles and falls back into her distracted daze for the rest of dinner. She has her permission. Now she simply has to survive an evening with the subject of her lurid fantasies. For some reason, this terrifies her.

* * *

Susan knocks three times at the front door, taking a breath as she realizes she's at the point of no return. There was a moment after dinner that she nearly called to cancel, in spite of Bruce's approval. She caught herself before doing so. This is after all a friendly visit and this is what friends do, isn't it? They don't cancel plans because they harbour some childish crush.

When Trina opens the door, Susan smiles instantly. The woman is much more dressed down than Susan has ever seen her, besides her barely-there running outfit. Trina's wearing a tight ensemble of sweats – still matching, of course – and she has a Chinese takeout container in her free hand. The brunette beams at her and Susan feels debilitated all over again.

"Susan! I'm sorry I'm still eating – I always seem to leave dinner till the last minute when I'm on my own."

"Well I could always leave and come back," Susan says with a silly grin.

Trina shakes her head at the silly proposition and uses her free hand to grab Susan by the forearm and drag her inside.

She closes the door and beckons Susan to follow her.

"I'm just watching the end of MASH," Trina bounces onto the couch and resumes eating. Susan watches her for a moment before she realizes she's staring. She takes a seat beside Trina: close, but not too close. She's sitting so stiffly she hopes Trina doesn't realize. When the brunette looks at her and smiles through a mouthful of noodles, Susan bursts into laughter and finds herself relaxing a little.

When Trina re-adjusts herself in her seat and scoots closer to Susan, their thighs now flush against each other, Susan stiffens again. Eventually she gets used to the contact, revelling in the sound of Trina's bright laughter at each fresh onscreen antic.

Trina finishes her meal and suggests they take the air, a proposition Susan is glad to take her up on. The fresh air might do wonders for her heated skin, or so she hopes.

They sit down on the patio and Trina turns her attention on Susan.

"Forgive me for being so bold, but you seem a bit tense."

Susan squirms a little in her chair.

"What do you mean?"

"I _mean_ you seem a bit tense. And this is coming from someone who's been all alone for days. Is something bothering you?"

Susan meets the woman's eyes and smiles.

"I'm all right. Just still getting used to the new place, I guess. I shouldn't feel this homesick. We've been here long enough. Everyone else seems so settled and I just can't find it in me to feel the same."

Trina nods at her friend, eyes her form.

"Come here," she says, and pats the long end of her lounge chair.

Susan quirks an eyebrow.

"Come on! I promise not to bite."

Susan slowly lifts herself from her own lounge and sits in front of Trina, baffled as to the woman's plans.

"Turn around – back to me." Trina instructs and Susan finds herself adhering without question.

The moment Trina's hands – no longer the phantoms of her dreams – come to rest on her shoulders, Susan lets out a breath of air she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She nearly moans when the hands begin to massage her muscles, draining the strain out of them move by move.

"That's it," Trina purrs. "Just relax."

Susan does relax for a while, but the arousal that takes the place of her stress soon scares her away. She jumps from the other woman's hands, standing to her feet and putting a hand to the skin of her flushed throat. Trina's face contorts in confusion and hurt.

"Susan, what's wrong? Did I – am I making you uncomfortable?"

Susan's hand flies to cover her eyes, suddenly completely overwhelmed and embarrassed.

"No, no I'm making _myself _uncomfortable. I'm sorry."

Trina stands and steps in front of Susan. She reaches for the ashamed hand and pulls it from a face that is redder than she's ever seen.

"Don't be sorry." Trina says softly, still holding her hand. Susan won't look her in the eye and Trina won't force her yet. She thinks she knows what's going on and she doesn't want to shatter the moment. She brings her other hand up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind Susan's ear.

They stand in silence for a time before Trina speaks again.

"It's okay to be afraid, you know. But you don't have to be."

Susan does look at her then, meeting a pair of brown eyes that have captivated her from the moment they met. Eyes that make words tumble from her lips even when she doesn't permit them.

"I keep having these dreams…" she says in a near-whisper.

Trina smirks. "Good ones, I hope."

Susan chuckles darkly. "Maybe too good."

Trina shakes her head with a sad smile. "Oh, Susan. What am I going to do with you?" She brings her hand up to caress the woman's cheek.

Susan's eyes darken with arousal at the words, her gaze flitting down to Trina's lips.

Trina stops her caress and leans in instead, taking Susan's lips in a gentle kiss.

Susan's entire body fills with warmth and her hand finds Trina's hip, drawing her closer. The kiss becomes heavier in seconds, both women pushing harder into one another's mouths, indicating just how two-sided the need is. Trina sinks her fingers into Susan's hair, gripping it tightly, eliciting a satisfied moan from Susan.

Trina takes the moan as all the approval she needs as she pulls back from the kiss, leaving Susan with a startled and somewhat terrified expression. It only lasts for a moment. Then Trina is sitting back down on the lounge and pulling Susan with her, on top of her, to straddle her legs.

Trina smiles, their faces just inches apart, before claiming those lips again, pushing her tongue into Susan's mouth. Susan's hands clutch at Trina blindly at the welcome intrusion. She knows now that every dream, every fantasy, pales in comparison to feeling this woman move against her. She wonders for a moment if this is just another dream.

Trina's hand roaming her chest quickly dispels the thought. Her grasp is rougher than in the dreams; Susan likes it better this way.

They move frantically, wantonly, as if they are trying to surpass each other in their outpouring of lust. The game seems evenly matched until Trina slides her hand up Susan's thigh and under her skirt.

Susan stops kissing and gasps, her eyes shut, unable to properly cope with the sensation she's been waiting too long for. Trina's hand is flush against her dampened underwear and Susan thinks she might fall apart.

Then Trina's hand is moving, in circles, rubbing her gently, and her situation improves in an impossibly delicious way.

"Trina," The name falls between her lips involuntarily. She's surprised she's able to speak at all.

Susan's hips, also of their own volition, begin to grind against the expert hand, growing more needy with each moment. When the hand is taken away, Susan's eyes snap open. Trina's looking at her with the cheekiest, shit-eating grin she's ever seen.

Susan gasps when she feels the woman's fingers plunge inside the underwear and into her warm, wet heat, resuming their form and lingering closer to her entrance. Susan lunges down and kisses Trina hard, forcing her tongue inside the woman's mouth this time, giving her wordless approval of whatever Trina has in store.

She moans when one finger, then another, is driven inside of her. Her hips move more frantically then, feeling Trina's palm bump against her simultaneously, hitting every nerve that needs it.

Trina leans out of the kiss to catch her breath as she drives her hand home. She holds the gaze of the bright eyes before her, watching for the signs that Susan will topple over the edge. She feels the change when the woman's hips move harder, desperation mounting.

Trina leans forward again and sucks at the exposed throat, never ceasing in her work. That tongue against her neck – an almost eerie imitation of her dreams – is what caps Susan's downfall.

Susan's head falls back and she emits a strangled cry, her entire body in upheaval as she rides out every last ebb of the tide that Trina has wrought. Trina kisses her from collar bone to lips and holds her, carefully, as she comes down. Susan realizes she is gripping the woman's shoulders in a way that must be painful so she loosens her grip, feeling her senses finally return to her.

Trina leans back and brings Susan with her, letting her fall against her chest and relax. They lay this way for a while, soaking in the tangled comfort of limbs, until Susan sits back up to stare down at her companion.

Susan searches the face before her for something imperceptible. She tries to make herself feel guilty for what she's done but it seems it may be too soon. For now she feels only an overwhelming adoration for the woman that's made her dreams real. She cups Trina's cheek and the woman nuzzles against her hand, grinning stupidly.

Susan leans down for one last kiss – it is gentle, mindful, and thankful for what has been given. When Susan pulls back her expression drops, her smile is gone.

Trina's smile fades too.

"You have to go, don't you." Trina says softly.

Susan only nods.

"Will you come back and visit?"

Susan smiles again, unable to suppress it.

"I might. If you'll have me."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** A bit rushed but I wanted a little more settled feeling to this story. I imagined a lot more going on between the first chapter and this one, as I'm sure anyone can imagine, but I've had this part actually written for a while. So here it is. The conclusion.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

_3 months later_

The conversation she has with Tom is the most difficult she's ever had.

He knows she loves him. And because he loves _her_, he knows she's been drifting away. But finding out that part of the reason is Susan Miller shocks him beyond all measure.

She tells him that she knows it's crazy, that she is a coward for keeping it a secret so long, but also that he once told her to do what feels right. And she admits that even if Susan can't follow through the same way, being with her feels right. She tells him she can't be with him anymore.

Tom sits in silence for a while. He knows how his wife looks at other women sometimes. But he's never considered the possibility of what's happening now.

"Please say something," Trina says desperately, her cheeks stained with tears. She's not supposed to be the one crying. But then she's never been good at endings. And after all she's done, she knows that's what this is.

He looks at her. His eyes seem hollow for a moment, his mouth hangs open slightly. Then he closes it and she sees the man she loves – the man she will always love – return to himself.

"In a few hours, when I realize what's happening, I'm probably going to hate you." He says simply.

Trina feels a fresh wash of tears heat behind her eyes. He continues.

"But what I know right now, and what I'll figure out when I _stop_ being angry, is that I just want you to be happy. And I know that's not with me anymore."

She does cry then, and smiles too. Tom's always seemed to know her so well. Not to say he was never selfish, but she never doubted for a second that would do what was best for her. Even if it means breaking his own heart is it does now.

She lunges for him and pulls him into her arms, her tears falling hot against his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Tom. I'm sorry I couldn't be better for you." She sobs, hating that it has happened this way. That she's forestalled ending things just because she was afraid.

"Baby, you're the best. No matter what happens, you'll always be the best." Tom replies softly.

He lets her go then, with great difficulty.

"I'm gonna stay in a motel till we sort out everything."

"I can put you up." She says immediately, but he steadies a hard glare at her.

"No. I'm going to do it myself. It's better that way." He says firmly.

She nods.

"I love you, you know." She says. She almost regrets it because she feels as though at this point saying those words will only hurt him more. Then he smiles.

"I do."

They laugh lightly. It's odd to hear those two words again, here at the end.

And just like that he's packing two suitcases, as if he were leaving for an extended layover. This time of course he's not coming back home. She sits in the living room while he does it, trying to still her crying. She barely has the energy left to bid him goodbye at the door.

She watches him drive away and her gaze lingers on the street, drifts over to the Miller's house.

It's raining. Of course it is.

* * *

Even now that she's free, she can't bring herself to call Susan. She can't really expect anything from her now, certainly not anything more than what she's already given.

* * *

_2 days later_

"I can't believe it! Tom and Trina?" Bruce laughs darkly. His voice is venomous. "What am I saying – I guess we should have expected it. You don't go around sleeping with half the neighbourhood and _not_ expect this ending."

"Bruce!" Susan's voice is hot, angry, and Bruce looks at her with shock.

"What?"

She doesn't _know_ what: what to say, what to feel. She can't believe it herself. That Trina's actually ended her marriage. It seems surreal. All of those long, dimly-lit conversations in bed about a life together – they suddenly seem too close and she knows its fear she's feeling. Because Trina could convince her of anything when she ran her fingers through her hair, soothing her, spinning dreams behind her eyelids at the drop of a few words. But those fingers aren't soothing her now. This is the reality.

When Susan settles into silence, offering no explanation for her admonishment, Bruce continues again.

"He didn't even say who it was she cheated with. I have to say I'm not surprised it was Trina in the end. But nobody deserves that."

"You're right," Susan says absently, barely a part of what can only be loosely defined as a conversation. She almost laughs at the absurdity of what he's just said, based on what she's done and what she knows he's been doing behind her back. She looks at him, hard, and hardens herself too. Her heart is beating impossibly loud and fast. "I know who it was."

His eyebrows rise in intrigue. "So?" He prompts when she doesn't follow-up right away.

"It was me."

He laughs loudly. The sound of it echoes through the quiet house. She's glad the kids aren't home.

"I'm not lying, Bruce."

"That's absurd! How do two women even – you're pulling my leg," he says. His smile is still wide; he chuckles.

"I wouldn't joke about this." She's stoic. Her words are cool.

He is silent for half a minute. The smile drips from his face like candle wax as he adjusts.

"So – so what, you messed around with Trina Decker? What the _hell_ am I supposed to say to that?"

Susan avoids his eyes. She almost corrects him, to tell him it _wasn't_ just "messing around," but she stops herself.

"Exactly what you _are_ saying, I guess." Susan says. For a moment she almost regrets admitting it at all. Then she imagines what Trina's reaction would be in this situation. On either side of it. She knows the woman would be calm, perhaps a little melancholy. She would be gentle, even in anger. It is this thought she clings to as she turns her gaze up to observe Bruce's boiling rage.

"And what? You're a dyke now? I don't get it, Susan! What the hell were you thinking?" He's far into her personal space now. The vein in his forehead is bulging and all at once he's too close, he's too angry, and she feels her composure burst.

"I was _thinking_ that it was refreshing to be with someone who gave a shit. That while my husband was cheating on me with a girl half his age, at least I could find comfort and a friend in a woman who cares more about me than I would guess you even have the capacity for! And I was _thinking_, that I'm in love with her!" Her throat is ragged, her voice shrill. Her eyes wide and wet. It takes her a few seconds to register the last words out of her own mouth. It takes her a few seconds longer to realize she is telling the truth.

Bruce, for his part, is slack-jawed, stupefied by Susan's revelations. He doesn't think he's heard her so candid in the entire span of their marriage. He can't believe she's known about his affair and said nothing until now. The guilt, the shame, the confusion – it washes over him all at once. His eyes drop to the floor; his mouth is agape.

"You know?" He says, more to the floor than to her.

"How could you think I wouldn't, Bruce?" Her arms hang limply at her sides. Her brow is furrowed.

"I – I mean… I didn't know about _you_."

"You knew I was going to Trina's. You just never knew exactly why." She takes a few steps away from him. She isn't angry anymore. She feels sapped of the rawness that compelled her to expose so much.

She sits at the kitchen table. She wishes she had a cigarette. Bruce sits down across from her. She's grateful that his anger seems spent as well, at least for now. She knows she should feel as guilty as he does. But oddly, she doesn't.

She looks at the man she married, the man she isn't sure she's ever known well enough. She reaches her hand out across the table towards him, palm up.

He looks at it. Blinks. He reaches his own shaky fingers towards it and lays his over hers.

She knows the rest of this will be just as hard. But she feels lighter for all she's said, for all he's heard. She knows that no matter what comes of it, this is the right decision.

* * *

It's almost midnight and Trina Decker isn't sleeping. She's sitting out on her patio with a bottle of merlot and a half-empty pack of cigarettes. She'd hoped the wine would help her sleep, but it doesn't work tonight.

It's almost midnight. And someone's knocking at her door.

For a moment her heart beats faster. She knows its hope that's settled there, but she crushes her cigarette into the ashtray, willing a similar action to her heart. She can't let herself imagine who's on the other side of that door. Imagining and hoping will only make it hurt more.

For a moment she feels too weary to move. She pretends she didn't hear a knock at all. Then it comes again and she drags herself to her feet, clutching her blanket more tightly around her shoulders. She shuffles to the door and places her hand on the doorknob. She takes a deep breath. She opens it.

Her heartbeat picks up again. Because there, standing only a few paces from her door, is Susan. She looks nearly as worn as Trina imagines she _herself _must look at that moment. Then Susan smiles. And everything in the world seems brighter for it. Trina finds herself smiling back, in spite of it all. She hopes that Susan's smile means what she wants it to.

Susan rushes forward and takes Trina in her arms, holding her so tightly she's bound to stop breathing. Trina holds her fiercely. The blanket around her shoulders falls to the ground. Her hand finds Susan's hair and tangles into it, holding the woman's head against her shoulder.

After a long minute, Trina speaks up.

"We should really get you inside." Her voice is seductive as always, but she can't hide the note of contentment that rings through every syllable. "The neighbours will talk."

Susan laughs against her, the sound muffled into her skin, the reverberations of her body filling Trina with warmth.

Susan pulls back in Trina's arms to look her in the eye again. She brings a hand up to the woman's tanned cheek and strokes her thumb against it like she can't believe she's real. Trina grins again and pulls her inside, lifting the blanket from the ground and tossing it to the couch. She guides them both to the couch, pulling Susan to sit beside her. She wants nothing more than to drape herself in Susan's body, to feel every inch of her right where she belongs, but she has to hear it first.

"What happened?" Trina asks but doesn't look at Susan's face. She watches the tightening of the woman's fingers around her own.

"I told him I've been seeing you. I told him," Susan takes a deep breath in. "I told him I know about his affair." Susan pauses but Trina can tell there's more. She doesn't push. She merely strokes the hand in hers.

Susan pulls their hands in tighter to her and looks into Trina's face. She tilts her head and Trina meets her gaze.

"I told him I'm in love with you."

Trina stops breathing. They've never used the word. Not _really_. It's not the same when it's just about some_thing_ – I love your eyes or I love your hair, I love your voice, your hands, your laugh. It's not the same as the full thing, the full feeling.

"And are you?" Trina asks, almost fearfully.

Susan hesitates only for a moment. She's loathe to admit she almost enjoys that Trina is afraid in that moment. That fear confirms that she's not alone. Susan smiles.

"I am."

The words are barely out of her lips before they're claimed entirely by Trina's advancing mouth. She throws her whole body into Susan's, willing them together as if they could mold into one by proximity. Susan thinks she might succeed in her efforts. Other than that, Susan barely thinks at all because she is kissing Trina and their hands are grasping wildly at eachother, trying like hell to inhabit the same space. Soon enough Trina is all the way on top of her, grinding her thigh between Susan's and pinning her into the couch cushions.

"I missed you," Trina murmurs against her lips and Susan can feel the light splash of a few hot tears against her cheek. Trina's tears. She opens her eyes and holds the dripping face in her hands. She observes the fresh, wet tracks under her eyes and the spots where the tears have unhinged and fallen prey to gravity. Susan kisses those spots, sopping up the dampness with her lips and finishing with a firm kiss to Trina's forehead. She pulls the woman down to her body and strokes her back as the woman weeps softly and settles against her.

"I _love_ you." Susan says firmly, making sure she is heard and understood. She knows that the road ahead will be difficult, likely even brutal at times. Many will not appreciate or like or even remotely comprehend what she feels for Trina. But she knows by now that what other people think won't make her any happier. Not really.

The things that make her truly happy are the things that matter: Laurie's broad generalizations about the state of mankind, the world, and all that's in it, as if she has all of the answers before she's turned twenty; B.J.'s hopeless romanticism and tender heart, his gentleness mimicking her own; Janet's obsessiveness and over-abundance of care and kindness.

And Trina's smile, her patience, her refreshing wisdom and grace, her laugh, her acceptance and warmth, her spontaneity. Her ability to bring light to any darkness, to restore any absence with her own abundance. Susan knows that everything Trina is – whether she's sick or sad, tired or beaten-down, content or ecstatic and everything in-between – is exactly what she wants. She knows it as if it is an ingrained sense. Something so obvious, so tangible, that she can't ignore it.

"I love you too. So much." Trina mumbles. Susan can feel the words against her chest. Inside her chest, too. Where they mark her deeply.

More than anything, in that moment, Susan feels a sense of peace. It's something she's felt in various moments of her life – the memories of holding her newborn children leap to mind – and it's much the same. It feels like a culmination.

She feels like she's in the right place with the right heart beating against hers. She feels whole.


End file.
